Compromised
by labyrinthinethorne
Summary: Betrayal: Sydney is caught by her own lies. *Updated with Part 2*
1. Part 1

Title: Compromised  
  
1 Authors: labyrinthine and Thorne  
  
Email: elabyrinthine@yahoo.com and akathorne@hotmail.com  
  
Rating/Classification: R, NC-17 in its entirety/angst, smut, the best things in fic.  
  
Summary: Sydney is caught by her own lies.  
  
Author's Notes: This is us being mean to Syd and Vaughn. Or, as Hil the support staff so eloquently stated: "Betrayal in the dark: how this story was supposed to be nothing but porn but has gone right back to PG-13 angst." But really – we've had a blast writing this, thanks to the server 5 stalkers for encouragement, and stay tuned for part 2.  
  
*****  
  
So this is what it feels like to be stabbed in the back, Vaughn thinks.  
  
Funny, he thought it would hurt more. He remembers the Saturday morning cartoons he would watch as a boy, the characters who were blissfully unaware of any impending doom until they looked up to see a thousand pound anvil hovering in air, about to crush them to the ground. He feels the dull calm of acceptance, knowing that any minute his apartment door is going to open and the figurative anvil, weighted with lies over lead, will drop for good and finish him off. He should never have looked up.  
  
So now, his eyes are closed. He sits on his couch, in the dark, a precaution from accidentally viewing the scene spread about his coffee table. Vaughn is slowly realizing that this makes no difference - what he has seen, has read, has come to believe, has been imprinted on his brain, and can not be erased.  
  
He didn't want to believe it at first; it didn't even cross his mind that it could be true in the beginning. Vaughn had received two phone calls in his office earlier in the day, a voice he didn't recognize insinuating they had compromising intel on Sydney's loyalties and would be willing to share. He immediately suspected Haladki; the thought of entertaining the calls as was not given a moments consideration. That Haladki denied the charge when confronted only made Vaughn assume he was behind the twisted joke. Even when he arrived home at the end of the day to realize there were piles of classified folders perched on his living room table, his first reaction was to check for missing valuables then to consider the provided information as fact.  
  
Vaughn remembers all of this, and thinks it is only another shining example of what a fool he becomes where Sydney is concerned.  
  
He doesn't need to open his eyes to see the pile of lies resting in front of him. Nor does he have to read their contents to remind him of the acrid disillusionment and utter despair that accompanies their pages. He realized for the first time that what was in front of him was not propaganda but truth. The woman he trusted implicitly for months on end had knowingly deceived him.  
  
Calling her was the bravest and stupidest thing he'd ever done. No 'Joey's Pizza', no meeting location designations, no double entendres. Just Michael Vaughn calling Sydney Bristow at home, on an unsecured line, telling her to meet at his apartment, now. He had never taken such a risk before, and knew after the night was over he'd never have to take such risks again. His emotions cloud over with the thought of this most probably being their last meeting, until he reminds himself of who she really is, and he no longer feels remorse.  
  
So now he waits in the dark, not moving a muscle, waiting for the anvil to fall.  
  
*****  
  
Sydney uses the reflective glass at the end of the apartment complex hallway to check behind her for tails as she reaches Vaughn's apartment. She's been on edge since he called; her entire ride across town was made on nervous dread. He had been curt on the phone, just on long enough to tell her to meet with him, that it was imperative. She couldn't even conceive of what would make him call her under his own name - she hoped to god her phones weren't tapped.  
  
There was no doorbell, so she used her knuckles to rasp lightly against the door. No response. She tries the doorknob to find it unlocked, and her initial apprehension gives way to dread as turns the handle.  
  
The door opens soundlessly to reveal a space enshrouded in shadow. She has never before visited his apartment and this first impression, with only moonlight invading from a far window to light her view, is disconcerting. There is something in the air, heavy and expectant, and as Sydney makes her way into the room she is afraid to even search for a light switch in fear of disrupting this attenuated balance. As her eyes adjust to the dim surroundings, she is able to make out his form, sitting on a couch, motionless.  
  
"Vaughn."  
  
No response. She moves closer; his features still obscured in shadow but with her nearness she can more clearly see his figure, hunched over, head cupped by his hands.  
  
"Is everything alright? I was worried, I thought something had happened." She waits for a response, an indication that he notices she's there at all, with no avail. The rush that carried her across town makes way for bewilderment. Sydney stands, biding her time, expecting any moment for him to get up, laugh, and explain himself. But he does nothing.  
  
His continued silence leaves her unnerved. Coupled with his utter lack of acknowledging her presence, and her assurance that he is in fact unharmed and not in immediate danger, her initial wariness is replaced with anger, and she lets her short temper have free reign. "Vaughn. What the hell are you doing? You called me on an unsecured line, telling me to just show up at your apartment with no notice. The only reason I agreed was because I thought you were in danger…this could blow my cover! I mean, what's so important that-"  
  
"I think it's a little late for that, don't you?"  
  
His voice catches her off-guard. She is unprepared for the simmering hostility, the…rage, contained behind his words.  
  
"What? Vaughn, this isn't funny." This is getting scary, she thinks, and she never gets scared. He wouldn't take a joke this far, and she can't read him at all.  
  
"I never said it was."  
  
Aside from the utterance, Vaughn remains unresponsive, still motionless from his position on the couch. Fuck it, she thinks, as she scans the walls and strides purposefully towards the discovered light panel near the hallway. Without a glance in his direction, she flicks the switch.  
  
The room is flooded with over bright light from a ceiling fixture, and it takes her eyes a minute to adjust to the harsh white that now surrounds her. She turns around, prepared to grill Vaughn on what was so important he had to call her for-  
  
And stops in her tracks when she presented with the scene before her. She can see him clearly now, compact and tense, looking ready to spring off the couch with a moment's notice. But it is the tableau of disarray on the coffee table next to him that fixates her attention. Grainy black and white surveillance photos. Audio tapes. Typed transcripts. Reams of paper, classified dossiers, some crumpled and strewn around the floor.  
  
"Oh, no…no…" She backs up, halting steps, distancing herself from the damning pile presented before her. This can't be real, she thinks. This cannot possibly be happening. Her sweeping gaze focuses on an enlarged photo of her and Sloane, an action shot of her placing a manila folder into his outstretched palm. Her eyes start to burn, and she seeks out Vaughn, the only familiar spot in the room. He has since raised his head and as she swivels back to face him, their eyes meet. She is taken aback; Sydney thinks she has never seen such anger. It radiates off him in waves, a tangible presence in the room that is more threatening than any flesh and blood enemy.  
  
"Have you enjoyed it? Have you had FUN?" The pure undiluted malice in his voice is too much for her to bear. Her mind is overwhelmed, trying to process the situation presented before her; she thinks irrationally her brain might stall and hang up.  
  
"Where did you get this?" Spoken softly, using effort to keep her voice level and controlled. Neutral, as if there was ever any neutrality in this whole situation. Everyone takes sides. If she could just regain enough to sense to wrap her mind around this…  
  
"Does it even matter?" He gasps out, incredulous. She can all but see the pent-up fury beneath his surface. "My god Sydney, I may be a fool but I know deceit when I see it. I mean, how could I have been so blind?" He tosses his head back, looking away. "You trying to get close to me, asking me on a fucking *date*…does trust or integrity mean a damn thing to you?" The room is spinning, she realizes. The room is spinning, and her heart is pounding so hard, she can't stop it, and god, Vaughn knows the truth, and now he'll hate her, and she has no idea what to do.  
  
She knew, in the back of her mind she has always known that one day this would happen. That the two sides of her life would hit each other head on, and she would be stuck in the middle, crushed between them. But she never imagined it would be like this, in a undistinguished apartment with testimony of her actions strewn around her feet, listening to the misdirected anger of a man who has suddenly become so unfamiliar.  
  
"Where did you get this?" She needs to know. God, let there be a way out…  
  
Vaughn becomes agitated, as if the information is inconsequential and not worth his time explaining. "I got a few phone calls. I thought it was a…a joke, it's not important. All this," gesturing to the devastation surrounding him, "was here when I got home."  
  
A plant, Sydney thinks numbly. He had ignored the calls so someone broke into his apartment and planted the intel to make sure Vaughn was aware. Why would they…realization, what has eluded her the minutes since this discovery, hits her like a pile of bricks. Her vision blurs and she sways on her feet for a moment, briefly losing control of any authority she holds over the rest of her body. She is silent, overcome by the revelation of *why* they sent him this evidence, and she knows that there is no hope left for any semblance of a happy ending.  
  
"And now you have nothing to say? It didn't seem that way last night…" He holds up a stack of paper, defiantly. She has a pretty good idea of what it says. He speaks with unrestrained anger; a part of her wishes he would choke on it, it would make things so much easier. He is still sitting on the couch, she observes, a study in restraint - she doesn't blame him.  
  
Still not trusting her voice, she walks with careful, measured strides towards his outstretched hand. Maybe if she sees it for herself, she reasons, her mind will wrap around and accept the futility of the situation. Reaching out, her hand just brushes a corner of the paper before it is suddenly thrust against her.  
  
It all happens so quickly, only later can Sydney piece together the sensations. Vaughn's hands against her shoulders, pushing her back, the transcript a crumpled causality against her chest. Bounding off the couch at last, reaching his full height, shoving her against the opposite wall. The feel of her back making solid contact with the surface, the intense feeling of entrapment when he stands completely inside her personal space, taking away any semblance of a protective barrier between them. She is trapped, caged between the unyielding wall against her back and Vaughn pinning her against the front. This is Vaughn, she keeps repeating to herself; she shouldn't be afraid of him. But she is.  
  
The nearness of him, his body pressed against hers, would on any other day be a welcome sensation. She can feel him breathing against her; he is so close. But the waves of hatred radiating from his presence, the hurt she feels so acutely that it must be a tangible force, managed to destroy what vestiges of autonomy she has attempted to preserve. She goes limp in his hold, resistance losing to the lure of shock and introversion.  
  
Sensing this collapse, Vaughn just tightens his hold. "Why?" he spits out, his voice increasing in both fury and volume. "These records go back *months*, do you have any idea how you've single-handedly compromised our entire assault against SD-6? Do you even care? You have put your family, your friends in danger. You've all but signed my death warrant-"  
  
Sydney breaks from his grip slightly, enough to turn her head away from his piercing gaze. "No," she whispers, shaking her head, the barest sound escaping her lips an accomplishment.  
  
"No, what? No, this isn't true?" He leans back, a sliver of space so he can assuage a better perspective. His hands do not lessen their hold against her, pinning her upper arms against the plaster wall; the adrenaline coursing through his body propelling his actions. His anger, asserted through both the physical violation and the heat of his words, makes it difficult for Sydney to assimilate his speech through the haze of her thoughts. "Stop lying to me, the fucking lies stop here. Look me in the eye and tell me this isn't true."  
  
*****  
  
End Part 1.  
  
Brought to you by the letters L and T. 


	2. Part 2

Title: Compromised  
  
Authors: labyrinthine and Thorne  
  
Email: elabyrinthine@yahoo.com and akathorne@hotmail.com  
  
Archive: Credit Dauphine (http://www.creditdauphine.net), all the way!  
  
Rating/Classification: R (this chapter), NC-17 in its entirety - angst/smut, the best things in fic.  
  
Summary: Sydney is caught by her own lies.  
  
Author's notes: This is really the second part of part 1. Confused yet? It will get to NC-17, it really will.  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
She hangs her head, allowing it to fall limp against her chest, her hair creating a fine gossamer curtain between her and the outside world. Almost immediately, her arm is freed as Vaughn uses his left hand underneath her chin to force her head up. "Fucking look at me!" he cries, and after a moment she acquiesces, wet lashes opening to reveal tear-filled eyes. There is no point in resisting, she concludes. Just let the scene play out and leave before she manages to hurt him more. She says nothing, just holds his gaze resigned as he searches her face.  
  
There is desperation written all over him, she thinks, anger and fury and rage but a desperation that he clings to, almost like he still cares for her and is waiting for her to prove him wrong once again. She can pinpoint the exact moment this desperation is wiped from his expression and replaced by indifference, when his eyes stop searching hers with a fragment of hope and change color to hold a steely resolve. His hand stays at her chin, keeping her eyes level with his.  
  
"You don't understand," she breathes. "Sloane-" He cuts her off, his thumb pressing into her lips. His fingers are tight on her face, pressing into her, and it is starting to hurt.  
  
"Stop. Not one more word. Don't say one more fucking thing. Sloane didn't make you do this. You had the choice, you could have come to me, and I would have helped you, no matter what, but you-" he growls at her. She shakes her head, not trying to free her herself, but in denial. He pushes her a little harder into the wall, the long heat of his body against her. His fingers slip down under her jaw again, keeping her from turning away.  
  
"No, no, you couldn't have helped, you don't know-" Sydney's voice is on the verge of breaking, and she hates it; she tries to taper down the swirl of emotion threatening to break free. She can't make him understand, and can't even decide if understanding will improve the situation.  
  
"I didn't know because you lied to me! You fucking lied to me about everything! I can't believe you…. I can't…. I can't listen to you anymore," he is growing more desperate and furious with each word, his hands shaking against her cheek. "Just stop talking, stop, just stop…." a shudder runs down him, and for one horrible moment, Sydney is afraid he is crying. But now she can see his eyes, flashing dark green at her, and there are no tears there, only a frightening heat. Then his mouth is on hers, sealing all explanations inside her. All the intensity from his eyes is burning in his lips as he kisses her hard, opening her mouth, pushing his tongue inside her, crushing her body against the wall. He is tense and braces against her, waiting for her to struggle free, but she doesn't. She is frozen, unable to move, unable to think past his frantic embrace. For a second or two, she doesn't move at all, but he is not backing off, not letting her pull away. She knows she could break free from him if she tries, but she isn't trying. The struggle is too difficult, and his passion is encompassing her, holding her quiet. Giving in, her right hand rises slowly to cup his face, and she sighs into him, her hips arching towards his body. If she can only distract him…her lips soften against his, and her fingers begin to trace the contours of his face. She opens up to him, letting all her defensive shields slip away for a moment, just for a moment. The instant he feels her yield, he shoves her aside and steps back; Sydney's legs crumble on the way down and she lands in a heap on the floor. She lays stunned for a moment, and then rolls upright, her arms around her legs, ducking her head to hide the sudden rush of tears, making herself a smaller target.  
  
She senses Vaughn moving back to the table, hears the rustling of papers. She glances up to see him sifting through the documents, piling them into a vague semblance of order. She wants to get up off the floor, stop the tears, and explain. Regroup and set this straight. Except she can't.  
  
"I can't even look at you." The raw anger has left his voice, replaced by a finality that wounds her more. It wasn't supposed to be like this, she thinks. "I don't even know who you are. Fuck!" Vaughn swipes cassettes off the table, clearing the debris to extract the wireless phone buried underneath.  
  
"No." She knows she's done with, it's only a matter of time now, but she won't leave this apartment for the first and last time with him hating her. Though it's unavoidable, she thinks - she already hates herself, but that's nothing new. "Don't call anyone, yet." Her assertiveness rising, she does her best to hold him back, while understanding that Vaughn holds all the cards.  
  
"And why should I listen to you? You don't seem to be the most trustworthy person around these days." Stall, she thinks, keep him talking and maybe she'll be able to convince him to listen to her.  
  
She stands with effort, right hip protesting but ignored. "You don't understand. This was never supposed to-"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure you never meant to get caught," he cuts her off, his voice going cold. He still holds the phone ready, but his eyes linger on her.  
  
"Damn it! No! I never wanted to turn on you, to lie to you." She watches him, the obvious distrust sketched all over his face. This was never supposed to happen; she has taken every precaution to make sure it didn't end this way. The past few months have been structured entirely around protecting him, his safety, his trust; as much as he must be hurting over this deception, her pain is just as acute. "Sloane found out that I was a double. He gave me a choice - turn triple, or watch everyone that I care about die one by one. It was no choice. I couldn't let anyone else be hurt because of my mistakes, my actions. So yes, there were times I lied to you, fed the CIA false information. But you don't understand, I did it to protect-"  
  
"You think no one else got hurt, Sydney?" he is shouting now, interrupting her defense, not caring that someone could hear. "Agents have DIED because of your actions. Operations that took years to set up have been destroyed because you CHOSE to-"  
  
"Stop! Shut up! You don't understand! You can't know what it is like to be forced into making that choice!" Sydney hears her own voice rising, and it seems to be coming from far away. Damn him for only thinking of himself, for not even considering the toll she has weathered for months. From the moment she stepped into his apartment, her only thought has been protecting him from the full extent of her deception, and from the betrayal he must have initially assumed. But this stubborn reluctance to even consider that she was doing the right thing, that there is more going on than he is aware, angers her, and the weight she has balanced precariously for months snaps, breaks free. She propels herself towards him, pushing him with both hands, shoving hard against his chest. Vaughn is unprepared for her attack, and the phone spins from his hand, flying across the room. He reels back, hitting the edge of the coffee table, tripping. Vaughn catches her wrist, yanking Sydney off balance, pulling her with him as they crash down across the files, sheets of paper scattering everywhere. They roll over the table and drop to the floor, crushing the evidence of her deceit. Sydney is trapped face down, half under Vaughn's body, and she is breathless for a moment when he lands on her. He recovers more quickly than she thought possible, and moves to pin her, imprisoning her wrists behind her back with his right hand, and holding her with his weight. They are both panting with exertion and shaking from adrenaline. Vaughn keeps her hands tight behind her, not knowing if she is going to strike out at him again. He sits back over her hips, balancing, one hand tight on her wrists, the other pressed flat between her shoulders.  
  
"Give me one reason why I should believe anything you say, Sydney," he says roughly, voice tight with emotion. "You can't do it, can you? Do you even know the last time you told anyone the truth?"  
  
"I'm telling you the truth now!" she gasps, twisting underneath him.  
  
"You don't even know what the word means," he hisses. "You've told lies on top of lies, to me and everyone else. The truth hasn't-"  
  
She contorts under him, flips him. She is so fast; he can't even process what is happening. Vaughn's head slams into the hardwood floor, bringing tears to his eyes. When he blinks the moisture away, he realizes that Sydney is sitting on his chest, pinning his arms down with her knees. She is cutting off his circulation, and it hurts, but one look at her darkened expression tells him that he should be still.  
  
"Don't you fucking judge me. I know the truth," she snaps. "I know who I am. I know what I did. But you aren't totally familiar with the truth either, are you?"  
  
His expression flickers from pain and confusion to outrage. "I never lied to you, Sydney."  
  
"You lie to me every time we meet. You lie to everyone you know about me. About what I am to you, how you feel. What you want," her voice is low, and deceptively gentle. She is still on his chest, knees pinning arms. She can feel the pounding of his heart under her thigh. She leans forward, carefully placing one hand on the floor next to his face. They are almost nose to nose now, her hair slipping down, curtaining off the rest of the room. "But I know your secrets, Vaughn," she whispers. "I can see them in your eyes when you look at me. I know what you want."  
  
His eyes search her face. "You don't know me at all, if you think I'm going to forget what you've done," he responds, his voice barely audible.  
  
Sydney traces his mouth with a finger. His lips are silky, and warm, and she wants to feel them on her skin before she leaves this apartment. It's a selfish desire that flashes through her thoughts, a last wish of sorts.  
  
"Stop it," he breathes, turning his head away. "Get off of me. I'm calling Devlin."  
  
She shakes her head, slowly. No. "Look at me," she mimics his words; copies his actions, her fingers sliding along the soft sandpaper edge of his chin. She pulls his face back to hers, insistent, "Look me in the eye, and tell me you don't want this."  
  
Sydney feels him inhale sharply; he is caught off guard. He is tense underneath her, starting to struggle. "This is unacceptable, you have to-" His protest is cut off by her mouth brushing his, lightly. He flinches as though she hit him; then he is utterly still, eyes closed, breath held.  
  
She studies his face, trying to memorize the curve of his lashes, the arc of his lower lip, the worry lines on his forehead. She has been such a fool about this man. And now it is too late. She knows she should get up, she should walk away. But instead of leaving, Sydney leans down and cradles his head in both of her hands. "Breathe," she whispers into his mouth, kissing him again, and again, and again. He is struggling against her, pushing her away as much as he can, twisting away from her kisses. I can stop, she thinks; I can stop before I go too far. I can stop before I hurt him.  
  
*****  
  
End part 2  
  
L and T, the only pornless prostitute letters in the alphabet…yes, yes we are evil, thank you. 


End file.
